


Lay Your Gun Down

by ephemerall



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Other, SHEITH - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 23:00:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11587947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemerall/pseuds/ephemerall
Summary: He stood looking at himself in the mirror of Shiro’s bathroom.  He didn’t look any different.  Sure, he was a little paler, but he looked just as he had the day before and the day before that.  He looked frantically around the bathroom.  He needed to clean himself up.  He threw his jacket on the floor, checked his arms, felt over his neck, shoulders – everything was the same and still the feeling crawling under his skin made him sick.





	Lay Your Gun Down

**Author's Note:**

> This is implied non-con -- there is nothing explicit but it is implicitly noticeable that a superior has taken sexual advantage of a minor. There are no ages specified but I imagine Keith to be 17 here and Shiro 19. There is no sexual relationship between Shiro and Keith -- only feelings that are briefly mentioned.

He stood looking at himself in the mirror of Shiro’s bathroom. He didn’t _look_ any different. Sure, he was a little paler, but he looked just as he had the day before and the day before that. He looked frantically around the bathroom. He needed to clean himself up. He threw his jacket on the floor, checked his arms, felt over his neck, shoulders – everything was the same and still the feeling crawling under his skin made him sick.

He couldn’t turn on the shower because Shiro would hear it. He couldn’t run because Shiro would follow. So instead, he opened the cabinet beneath the sink. There were wet wipes there – what he and Shiro took when they went riding in the desert to clean sweat and dirt off of their bodies when there was no water source.

He swallowed hard and tore open the package. He wiped down his face, his neck; he scrubbed at his arms and resisted the intense urge to strip down and scrub everywhere else, too. He took a breath and then another and choked on a threatened sob. He knocked the wipes on the floor in his haste to cover his mouth.

He felt weak. Stupid. He’d gotten in more fights than he’d done homework so why didn’t he take a swing? Why didn’t he shove? Why did he choke on his own tongue and forget to form the insults that made people swing first and cause a commotion that brought spectators? Maybe… maybe if he talked to Shiro he could fix it. Shiro fixes everything. Maybe, just maybe, if he told Shiro what happened Shiro could fix _him_.

He looked at himself in the mirror again and this time he looked like a ghost. His eyes were glassy; his face ten shades whiter, and even his lips had lost their color. Logically, though he looked ill, he looked the same but he didn’t _feel_ it. He balled his shaking hands into fists and wanted to smash the mirror. He couldn’t look at himself. And what if Shiro couldn’t look at him either? He couldn’t bear it, having Shiro look at him in disgust as he was looking at himself, or worse, in pity. No. He couldn’t tell Shiro. Not ever.

If everything hadn’t felt so wrong he would have been embarrassed at how hard he startled at the soft knock on the bathroom door. He felt panic crawl up his throat and he couldn’t breathe. If Shiro opened the door he’d just look at him and know.

“Keith? You ok?” Shiro’s concern made him feel like he was going to throw up.

“Fine,” he replied, voice cracking. “I’m… fine.”

“You sure? You don’t sound fine.”

Keith gripped the edge of the sink tightly; it was the only thing holding him up now. He took one slow breath and then another. “I’m just not feeling well.”

“Do you want me to –“ the door handle moved only slightly.

“No!” Keith interrupted and he was glad he couldn’t see Shiro’s face on the other side of the door. “No,” he said more calmly. He felt like he was flying apart. “Just… just let me be sick in peace.”

Shiro was respectful to a fault and Keith could practically hear his nod. “Ok,” he said. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

“I will,” Keith croaked. And then his lie was truth: he rushed to the toilet and the seat clanged loudly as he pushed it up in haste. On his knees he bent over the bowl and retched violently. He’d forgotten to eat lunch, working instead on late assignments, so the bile burned his nose and throat. He repeated over and over in his head _don’t cry, don’t you dare cry._ He’d felt safe at the Garrison, like maybe he’d have a home there. He was stupid. So stupid.

 

He left Shiro’s room too quickly, telling him that he didn’t want to give him whatever bug he had. He steadily avoided Shiro for three days before running into him in the commissary. He didn’t have to school his features because Shiro was used to his permanent scowl.

“Hey,” Shiro said, sitting across from Keith, who was at a table alone like usual. Keith didn’t look up; he couldn’t look Shiro in the face. “How are you feeling?”

Keith shrugged. “Fine, I guess. I’m just tired.” Shiro knew him better than anyone, knew him too well – if Keith looked him in the eyes Shiro would peg him for the liar he was. Keith pushed his eggs around on his plate; he hadn’t eaten in two days. Everything made him feel sick. He’d showered though. Several times. Even now he felt like he needed another. Shiro reached out to put a hand on Keith’s wrist across the table and without meaning to Keith drew back too quickly, bumping his plate and making it clatter loudly as it slid on the table. He didn’t look up; he couldn’t see the look on Shiro’s face. He didn’t want to see his concern because he didn’t deserve to have it. 

Shiro cleared his throat and pulled his hand back. Keith put his on his lap under the table. “We have a mid-winter break coming up.” Keith nodded. His stomach churned. “Are you going back home?”

“It’s not my home,” Keith said immediately. Shiro was painfully quiet for a long moment.

“I was wondering if you’d like to come stay with me.”

Keith’s stomach lurched into his throat. He swallowed hard, mouth watering with the threat of vomiting again. He shook his head too hard. “I don’t… I can’t – “

“Is everything ok?”

It was stupid to look up, stupid to see that look on Shiro’s face. The one that said he cared about Keith. And Keith couldn’t stand it. He shot up from his chair, knocking it over and causing several people to look in their direction.

“I have to go,” he whispered.

“Keith – “

He ran, Shiro calling out to him, all eyes on him. But he didn’t stop; he couldn’t stop.

 

It was against regulations to leave the premises without permission and still Keith found himself sitting in the little shack in the desert. He knew Shiro would come looking for him eventually but he wished he wouldn’t. He slept fitfully on the couch, alternately sweating and shivering in his tee shirt and boxers.

It was dark by the time he heard the engine of the hover bike. He didn’t get up from the couch, staring at the ceiling and waiting for Shiro to come inside. He didn’t knock but opened the door slowly. “Keith?” His hesitance made Keith’s chest twist uncomfortably.

“Yeah,” Keith replied. Shiro stepped into the shack, worry splashed across his face. Shiro closed the door with a creak and a click.

“Is everything ok?” He was treading carefully and it made Keith want to hit him, made him want to scream until his throat was raw. Shiro sat down on the little makeshift table beside the couch, folding his hands in his lap. It was obvious Shiro wanted to reach out, but Keith’s little display in the commissary must have stuck with him. Keith swallowed audibly, hesitating before his answer that he was fine, which was clearly a mistake. “I don’t believe that.”

“You should go back,” Keith said. “If you’re caught leaving without permission you’ll get in trouble.”

“I think this is more important.”

“It’s not. Everything is fine, Shiro.” Keith’s voice was flat and he heard Shiro exhale through his nose. He was frustrated.

“You haven’t been yourself,” Shiro said. Keith kept his eyes on the cobweb at the far corner of the ceiling. He didn’t trust himself to speak. “Did something happen?”

“No,” he answered.

“Did I do something to upset you?” _That_ got Keith’s attention. He couldn’t let Shiro believe he’d done something wrong. He didn’t deserve that. Keith sat up and swung his legs over the couch, facing Shiro. Their knees were close but not touching.

Keith shook his head. “No,” he answered. “Shiro, you didn’t do anything. I’m just…” He struggled to speak for a moment, took a deep breath in through his nose and dropped his gaze to the floor. “I’m just dealing with some stuff. I do it better alone. I’m sorry if I made you think – “

“It’s ok,” Shiro interrupted. “I was just worried.”

“Sorry,” Keith said. “I just need to sort some things out in my head.”

“I can understand that.” Keith nodded at him. Shiro was quick to change the subject. “I stole some food from the commissary.” Keith looked up at that. The gnawing twist of hunger was there but so was the unending nausea. “Just some rolls and mashed potatoes. Rice. I figured they’d be easier on your stomach.”

“Thanks, Shiro.” Keith gave a wan smile as Shiro stood. Though when Shiro paused, brows pulled together, he felt exposed all of a sudden. “What happened there?” Shiro was gesturing down at him, and Keith looked down at his lap. Sitting the way he was his boxers had bunched and there were several bruises high up on his thigh and a set of angry red scratches on the other. Keith felt sweat break out on his forehead and neck, heart surging into his throat. It was too late to cover it up so he shrugged.

“Don’t know,” he said. He hoped, god how he hoped it was convincing. “Must’ve been during hand-to-hand training.” He chanced looking up at Shiro and the look on Shiro’s face was wary, calculating.

He hummed in response. “Must’ve been.” Keith knew he didn’t believe him for one fucking second. He had the urge to shove Shiro out the door and lock it. Instead he held Shiro’s gaze hoping that he conveyed there was no discussion to be had and that Shiro would just let it go. “I’ll let you get dressed and get the food.” He eyed Keith carefully before turning away. Keith felt dizzy, exposed, and the little hunger he felt had disappeared entirely. Instead he was fighting the urge to throw up all over the wood flooring.

 

This time – this time he did break the mirror. Looking at himself he could see the dark circles under his eyes, the dull look there; he’d lost weight too, which Shiro had commented on more than once. He prodded the bruise at his collarbone, the one low on his hip. He felt the room spinning around him. His own reflection made him sick and he couldn’t help the terrible noise that came out, couldn’t stop himself from slamming his fist into the reflective surface. The mirror shattered, pieces cutting into his fingers but he hit it again, splitting his knuckles wide open and littering glass everywhere. His blood was bright against the white sink.

The bathroom door banged open and his roommate stood in wide-eyed shock. “What the fuck, Kogane?” Keith wanted to tell him to get the fuck out, go away, but he couldn’t _breathe_. Instead he stumbled back from the sink and into the wall. “Jesus Christ,” Miller swore as Keith sank down between the tub and toilet. He could feel his whole body shaking.

“You need to go to the infirmary,” Miller said, stepping in and reaching to help Keith up. 

Instead, Keith screamed at him. “Don’t touch me!” He fisted his hands in his own hair but he refused to cry – not in front of Miller, not in front of anyone.

“Jesus,” Miller said again and then he was gone. 

He didn’t know how long he sat there, warm blood running down his arm before Officer Hernandez was squatting down in front of him. He’d met her before; she was a friend of Shiro’s. She was a nurse in the infirmary, too. Keith wondered if she’d tell Shiro.

“Cadet,” she said. Keith, instead of answering her, wondered if Miller would tell people what he saw. It would be one more reason for his classmates to whisper, to look, to – “Keith,” she said softly. He finally looked at her; he hated her sympathy. “Let’s take a walk, okay?” He nodded.

He didn’t miss the way she carefully stepped back, the way she avoided touching him. He wondered what Miller said to her. Once he was standing she handed him a towel and told him to put pressure on his hand – he did as he was told. She disappeared for a moment and came back with his casual clothes rather than his uniform and left him to get dressed. He was glad Shiro was away doing pilot training; glad he didn’t have to look Shiro in the face and lie some more.

 

The infirmary was cold – it was always cold. Keith sat on a plastic chair, arm across a metal table while Officer Hernandez stitched his knuckles. “How about you tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing,” he said. 

“Did something happen here to upset you?”

“No.” 

“Is there anything you want to talk about?”

“No.”

She sighed, setting down the needle and grabbing gauze. “I can’t help you if you won’t let me.” 

“I don’t need your help,” he said. “I’m fine.” 

“This doesn’t look like ‘fine’, Cadet.” She eyed him carefully. “How’d you get those bruises?”

“What bruises?”

“Near your shoulder and your hip.” He’d forgotten he was in his underwear when she came in. He was quiet for a while, probably too long.

“Sparring,” he said. She hummed like Shiro did, the noise that clearly said she knew he was full of shit.

“Keep it clean and dry for 7 days. You can wash normally after that and I’ll see you in 14 days to take them out.”

“Okay.”

 

It was only day 8 when Shiro came pounding on his door. He opened it to find his friend angry. “Explain,” Shiro said, holding up a carbon copy of paper.

“It’s a disciplinary plan. It’s self explanatory.” Shiro pushed his way into Keith’s room and slammed the door behind him. “Why are you even going through my file?”

“I’m your mentor; it’s my _job_ to know what’s going on with you. It’s pretty normal for you to skip a class or two, but _every_ class for a _week_? What the hell is going on with you?” 

“Nothing.”

“Stop lying to me,” Shiro said and Keith felt his throat close up. “Something is going on. You are not fine; you’re not _ok_. So please, Keith, _let me help you._ ” Shiro pleading with him broke something inside of him. He never meant to put this on Shiro, never meant to cause Shiro pain. Keith backed up and sat hard on the edge of his bed; Shiro followed and knelt in front of him. He lifted his hand to take Keith’s and Keith pulled away.

“Don’t.” His throat felt too tight.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Shiro said softly and Keith felt everything inside of him cracking. He hesitated before giving Shiro his hand. There was an electricity buzzing under his skin when Shiro touched him – it had been pleasant before, something he’d wanted to chase and now it was tinged with fear, anxiety he didn’t want to have. Keith choked when Shiro pressed his lips to the stiches there. Neither one of them had ever talked about it, whatever this simmering thing between them was; neither of them had ever acted on it. It was against regulations, too. Officers were not allowed to have romantic or sexual relationships with cadets. Keith had wanted both with Shiro, god help him he had wanted everything, and now he didn’t know what he wanted. He didn’t know how to feel outside of the self-loathing he was drowning in, the disgust and the shame and the _fear_. 

Shiro looked up at him. “I’m worried. You’re scaring me, Keith,” Shiro said. He was cracked open, everything exposed because he knew – Shiro _knew_. “Let me help.”

Keith shook his head, pulled his hand away from Shiro and drew his knees up to his chest. He put his head down. He couldn’t look at Shiro. His eyes burned. “You can’t.”

“Please, Keith. Please trust me,” Shiro pleaded. “I know you’re scared.” Keith wanted to argue, tell Shiro to shut up because he wasn’t scared, only he couldn’t. He hated that Shiro was right. “But… just tell me. Just tell me who is hurting you.”

And just like that everything Keith worked so hard to keep locked away came rushing out. He hated being vulnerable, hated crying alone let alone in front of anyone. And then Shiro was hurrying up onto the bed next to him, pulling him close – instinctively Keith fought against it but Shiro shushed him, promised it would be alright and crushed Keith to his chest. He slid his fingers into Keith’s hair and it was soothing instead of painful.

“I’m sorry,” Keith whispered into his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Shiro said softly. “No one is ever going to touch you again.”

Keith believed him. Shiro would fix this just like he always fixed everything.


End file.
